


dreams can't hurt you

by silentsonata



Series: nice but inaccurate oneshots [14]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Whumptober, Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 16:35:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20969657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentsonata/pseuds/silentsonata
Summary: The pain is not ineffable. It is inevitable.





	dreams can't hurt you

_The storm, as ferocious as the first storm ever, cannot douse the flames of Aziraphale’s sword. The feathers on his white wings are darkened by the rain they have absorbed, and the runoff from his wings drips off onto the ground, splattering on the paved roads like blood on snow. His hair is pressed flat against his head in its wetness. His knuckles are white from gripping the hilt of the sword._

_Crowley is on the ground, head drooping, resting against a lamppost, the skin on his hands grazed by the rough pavement. His wings are drawn back tightly against his body, and upon a second glance, Aziraphale notes that Crowley is not resting but simply unable to continue moving out of exhaustion. _

_Aziraphale approaches slowly, bare feet splashing in the puddles in the dips of the road. He drags his sword behind him, and it clatters against the bricks. Crowley stirs, and the usual passion in his eyes has been extinguished. All that is left is fear. There is nowhere left to crawl backwards to._

_“Please, angel.” His voice comes out like smoke from a snuffed candle, weak and fading. “Please stop.”_

_“Stop what?” Aziraphale keeps walking forwards. Crowley sighs, resigned, and says no more. He stops in front of Crowley, and he kneels down. “Crowley, what happened?”_

_“You happened.” Aziraphale feels himself raising the sword, and his arms move as if commanded by a higher power. The sword is flaming still, and Crowley flinches from the heat and the light._

_“No, no, no, no,” Aziraphale pleads, realisation dawning as if he already knows how the story ends, “Crowley, I can’t stop, I can’t, I can’t stop.” He chokes his words out through the tears that spring to his eyes. _

_The pain is not ineffable. It is inevitable._

_Aziraphale fights the downward motion of the sword with every muscle in his arms. He is rooted in place, like he has gazed upon Medusa herself, and he slows the descent of the flaming blade to a grinding halt. He notices that he is shouting from the exertion of the task, and he hears the echo of his tearing voice rebound from the flats around him._

_“S’okay,” Crowley says faintly, the brightness of his smile diluted by the rain and his fate, “You can’t help it, can you? You don’t have a choice. Was always meant to be like this, wasn’t it? Good triumphs over evil. God smites sinners.”_

_Aziraphale shakes his head vigorously. “Crowley, no!” He loses his grip on the wet hilt and feels with horror the vehemence with which his hand plunges it into Crowley’s chest. Aziraphale’s scream dies in his mouth as Crowley shakes, trying to contain the pain. Black blood seeps out from the corners of his mouth and from the stab wound. The sword burns on. _

_“Doesn’t hurt, angel.” Crowley tries a laugh. “You’re good, y’know that? You haven’t done anything wrong.”_

_Then Crowley is still, eyes open, serpentine smile on his face. Aziraphale’s agency is returned to him, and he cradles Crowley’s body in his arms as the rain continues to pour down. He cries out, asking why there was no-one in all the flats around them who could help, why there was no divine intervention, why it had to end like this._

Aziraphale wakes with a start, and the fresh tears on his face are hot like little rivers of flame. He stumbles his way in the dark, ignoring the books he pushes to the ground on the way to the telephone and dials Crowley’s number, unsteady hands holding the handset.

The dial tone rings thrice. Aziraphale is starting to think that Crowley won’t pick up.

“Angel?” The familiar drawl tips a bucket of relief over Aziraphale, and he has to grip the table to make sure his legs don’t give out under him.

“Oh, Crowley, dear, you’re alright.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Nothing.” The word comes from Aziraphale’s mouth too quickly, and he covers his mouth as if that can take the words back.

“Y’alright there?”

“Absolutely.” Aziraphale hopes that the little tremors in his voice don’t give him away. “Good night, Crowley,” he says as normally as possible, and hangs up in case Crowley tries to continue the conversation. How is he meant to act normally after he has just seen someone he cares about (_the love of his life_, his mind says, and Aziraphale pushes it away) perish by his hand?

Usually, the Bentley takes about six minutes to get from Crowley’s flat to Aziraphale’s bookshop. Tonight, it takes three. Aziraphale is making doubly sure that the door is locked when he hears the screech of tyres and smells burning rubber. Then, right on cue, there is banging on the door.

“Angel,” Crowley is yelling, “What’s wrong?”

“Everything’s alright, Crowley,” Aziraphale begs, “You can go back.”

The banging stops. “I’ve known you for _six thousand years, _angel. Think I know when something’s wrong.” Aziraphale hesitates.

“Please don’t come in. You can’t come in.” _Can’t be in here with me. I’ll hurt you. I have to be quarantined. I have to be alone._

“Won’t. I’ll just sit here, on your doorstep. M’not going away.” Aziraphale appreciates the gesture. He knows that Crowley could unlock the door with a snap of his fingers. The fact that he doesn’t makes Aziraphale feel a little warmer inside, like he has just had a warm cup of cocoa. It is silent between them, and that is Crowley’s way of saying _go on, you can tell me what’s happened, and I’ll be here, listening, for as long as you need me to._

Aziraphale sits down on the ground, his back against the door. He takes a few deep breaths, and the words spill out of him like shooting stars, burning his throat on the way out. The rhythm of his syllables is unsteady, like they too are trying to find their way in the confusion. When his story is complete, Aziraphale waits for Crowley’s response, partly fearful that he has up and left.

“Angel,” Crowley says after what feels like another six thousand years, “You’re the best person I know. Wouldn’t even hurt a fly. Remember that time you chased someone out because they were about to step on a spider? You wouldn’t be able to hurt someone even if you wanted to.”

“But I did,” Aziraphale counters, “I did, I hurt you, and it felt so… Felt so real.”

“But it wasn’t real, was it?”

“Dreams can become a reality.”

“Not all of ‘em.” They let that hang between them. “You don’t have to be alone. I’m here.” It becomes quiet again, and they wallow in it for a while.

Aziraphale stands up, adjusting his tartan pyjamas to look as respectable as possible, and unlocks the bookshop door. He opens it as a silent invitation. Crowley is standing on the doorstep, dripping with rain from the top of his spiky hair to the bottom of his snakeskin boots. He looks like a drowned rat-snake.

“Look at you,” Aziraphale gasps.

“S’just rain.” Crowley snaps his fingers to dry himself and reaches for Aziraphale’s hand. A touch is all it takes for Aziraphale to withdraw it, almost hissing, and there is a flash of pain in Crowley’s eyes that disappears as soon as it appears. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I should be thanking you.” Aziraphale’s voice is thick with fear, and he maintains the distance between them.

Though they are only a few feet apart, Crowley cannot reach Aziraphale. Not even a miracle will let his grasp extend through the walls Aziraphale has put up.

**Author's Note:**

> this is day 7 and 8 of whump-tober: isolation + stab wound (find [here](https://whumptober2019.tumblr.com/post/187356400823/october-approaches-and-so-does-whumptober-2019)) :D
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr!](https://silent--sonata.tumblr.com/)   
[Chat to me on Discord!](https://discord.gg/pTcajxx)   



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